Thicker Then Blood
by ThomasChessandBirch
Summary: There's two years difference between you but it seems like so much more/ You go to him at night, when the monsters make shadows on your wall. You love him.


_Written for Fire The Canon's Snakes and Ladders Challenge._

I own nothing.

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There's two years between you, that's it.

At night, when you're scared or lonely, you go to him instead of your parents and he holds you close and scared away the nightmares.

Sometimes you'll look at him, take in the bright red hair that shines in the dull light, the light dusting of freckles over the bridge of his nose and his thin lips that always brush the top of your head in an obvious act of love.

There's two years difference between you but it seems like so much more.

He's the one that teaches you how to bride a broom, the one that teaches you how to fly and be feel with the wind.

You've never loved him more and as you look down at him, feel the light breeze in your hair, you know that nothing will tear you apart.

One year later he leaves and his bed is cold.

Little sister cries and you cry with her, silent tears falling down your cheeks.

He misses your birthday and you hate him.

The owl comes a day late and before anyone can stop you, you burn the letter and neatly wrapped parcel.

The night is spent shivering under his sheets and imagining everything that it could have been.

It was a book, he tells you a week later while looking at you in disbelief.

Later that night he shoves you out of his bed and tells you to grow up.

You are ten and he is twelve.

Two years have never felt so much.

He leaves again and Christmas is over.

Little sister still cries and you still cry with her.

Little brother three says your name and crawls quietly into your bed.

_Charlie_

Little brother two is quick to follow.

That night they crawl into your bed the next night and you hold them close while trying to scare away the nightmares.

They smile and you smile and for the first time in years, your bed is warm.

He writes but you don't write back.

It's easy, all you need to do is close your eyes tight and block out the world.

The days become hot and sticky, heat hanging in the air, becoming something you can almost see.

Most days you lie on your back by the pond and take solace in the relative silence, the sound of water on rocks, the birds and bees and the rabbits scampering in the woods.

It's almost peaceful and you almost love it.

Somewhere a frog croaks.

It becomes a thing and you vow that when he comes back you won't show him this place, you won't let him into your own private little world; you'll leave him by himself with the days stretching out like the two years between you.

He comes home and you show him.

Baby sister gets his room and the little brothers stop coming in yours.

We're five now, little brother three says, we're big boys.

But you know why, you know it's because they've put his bed in your room.

He watches you sleep sometimes, you'll watch up and look towards him, blue will meet blue and his face is illumined by the moon light.

Bed springs creek and the monsters howl.

The night is hot but you're cold as ice.

You go to the pond one day and he's there, lying in your space, soaking up your sun.

A frog croaks and you glare.

A bird spurts out a neat little tune and you walk away.

He leaves again and you try not to think about the night before too much.

The night where he held you.

The night where you begged him not to leave you.

The night you died a little bit inside at his words.

When you wake up, he's gone and you're alone.

The air is hot but the sheets are cold as ice.

He leaves.

He always leaves.

Parents think they understand why you're sad, but they don't, they don't understand spending every moment loving someone, spending every moment being _able _to love someone.

Your someone had been ripped away.

Little sisters says your name and you smile at her. She's one now, you think, walking and talking the way babies do, you look down at her and wonder what she'll turn out like, will she turn out like.

Pretty, you think, she'll be pretty.

Ten becomes eleven and there's not present this year, no neatly wrapped parcel, not even a letter.

You wait by the window for a week, looking out towards the horizon for that tell-tale speck of brown that means an owl is coming.

He doesn't come home for Christmas and mother cries at night.

You cry with her, and for the first time in forever creep into their bed.

The sheets are cold.

It snows, big white flakes coming down like rain.

The world is pained white, and just for fun you add some red.

The pond freezes over and you start to miss the heat.

You still go there though, lie where he laid, you still look up at the white sky and try to feel the warmth he always gave you.

One day there are two sets of footsteps instead of the one.

Little brother one had been to your spot, sat in the place where he say.

You yell at him.

You scream at him.

You add some more red to the white, just for fun of course.

The snow melts and you start to wonder whether it was even real.

The heat comes back.

He comes back.

Mother doesn't cry anymore.

Father comes home more.

It's happy and you're happy.

He goes back to the pond and you lie down next to him.

You ask him how it was, as the sun shine down upon both of you.

It's not as hot as last year, you think.

_Okay, _he replies, _I'm sorry about Christmas._

You tell him its fine and for a moment it is.

_It's really hot, isn't it? _He says to himself, to you, to the birds and the worms.

After a while he takes off his top and you try not to stare, but you do, you're eyes glued to his chest.

He's skinner than you remember; bones stand out against the white skin.

No muscle, you think, none at all.

If he sees you staring he doesn't say anything about it.

That night you wake up and the bed springs are creaking, he's panting, _moaning, _and it makes you feel strange, gives you a weird feeling in the pit of your stomach.

You don't dare turn towards him, even though everything inside of you screams to.

It stops with a small whimper and you're a tiny bit disappointed.

Only when his breathing evens out do you dare to look, his face is bathed in moon light and for the first time in years you really _see _him, and for the first time in years you realise how much older he is.

The two years stretch out like a road in front of you, going on forever and ever, becoming the only thing you can see.

There are ten years between you and little sister.

Will she miss you? When you leave her, will she even remember you?

You hope so.

This time, when he leaves, you leave with him.

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So, what do you think?

Review!


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